


salt

by aosc



Series: Aeternitas [2]
Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-21 05:03:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14908865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aosc/pseuds/aosc
Summary: Rafe’s expression morphs into something like reproach, if reproach’s got a slightly less serious cousin, one who’d tolerate their work partner slash not-at-all-charity fuck to talk them out of meeting with some or other unhinged Russian mobster about off the books-equipment they’ve been trying to acquire for months.Sam likes to think he’s just the kind of man who brings that out in people.





	salt

**Author's Note:**

> PLAYLIST:
> 
> close to my fire - slackwax  
> out of touch - shy girls, rome fortune  
> california girls - noMBe  
> lait de coco (dub) - maya  
> divine disaster - XO, james chatburn

* * *

 

“The what now?” Sam says. He stretches, feels a knot dislodge in the small of his back. Daylight is slanting through the far window, striping through motes of dust.

 

Rafe’s voice comes slightly muffled, turned away as he is, when he replies, “I understand you’re about as uncultured as they come, Samuel, but even you can’t be this ignorant.”

 

“No, no. I get the sports part.”

 

“That’s a relief, since I told you it’s a tournament. One of the prerequisites for hosting a tournament is usually that it involves athletes competing against each other.”

 

“I heard you. Given I could tell you from where the word tournament originates – “

 

“It’s French. Please get back to the matter on hand.”

 

Sam props himself up on a palm. “One thing that would be great? Is you getting back into bed.”

 

Rafe turns around. There is a tightness in his jaw that indicates impatience. “Sam,” he says, tilting into close bitten and exposing his temper.

 

“Alright, alright,” Sam says, “If it’s important I guess – there’s nothing to it. We’ll go.”

 

“Well, I’d think it’d be in your interests as well for us to be seen out in public.”

 

Sam sinks into the mattress again. He shrugs, “Eh. There’ll be plenty of time for us to ‘be seen’. I don’t think one fancy Rolex-sponsored event’ll change that.”

 

Rafe turns back to the mirror. He resumes buttoning his shirt up. “And here I thought you said you didn’t know anything about it.”

 

“Took a stab at somethin expensive. Hah – story of my career.”

 

Rafe raises an eyebrow, mirrored judgment all too starch for whatsit in the morning. “That’s one of the worst things you’ve said – I think ever.”

 

“You only think so cause your sense of humor’s sorely lacking,” Sam shrugs. “Nothing much I can do about that.” He yawns, and scratches three fingers down his chest, deliberately but subtly tugging the sheets along as he goes.

 

“Actually, I take that back. That? That’s worse.”

 

Sam grins. “Good enough to get your attention.”

 

“Is that what you want?” Rafe’s fingers have ceased on his buttons, leaving the top done but his shirttails in the wind. His hair’s still not slicked, and he’s barefoot. He turns slowly, deliberate in every single breath, probably birthed from a place of constantly being watched, what does Sam pretend to know – but it knocks something loose in Sam’s throat anyway, to see the obvious conflict in these things when mashed together.

 

Sam allows for his fingers, temporarily still on the flat of his ribs, to wander lower. “Maybe,” he says, squeezing at his own hip.

 

Rafe’s expression morphs into something like reproach, if reproach’s got a slightly less serious cousin, who’d actually tolerate their work partner slash not-at-all-charity fuck to talk them out of meeting with some unhinged Russian mobster about off the books-equipment they’ve been trying to acquire for months.

 

Sam likes to think he’s just the kind of man who brings that out in people.

 

Rafe crosses the distance from the far end of the room in large steps. He kneels on the bed, perfectly pressed pants no doubt creasing at the bend of his knees as soon as he does. Sam waits, catches Rafe’s gaze. He holds it as he reaches further down, presses the heel of his palm into his dick, which twitches upwards with the friction.

 

Funny thing, how they’d gotten involved. Sam inherently dislikes that expression, but he’s not got a better expression for it. Fucking on the off sounds way too impersonal for something that involves sharing close quarters for extended periods of time, but they’re not an – item. They’d struck down somewhere in nowhere, wedged between staking out routines to make room for the other, and disliking most of the other’s personality traits to a fault.

 

“I really need to be on time for this,” Rafe murmurs. He’s poised across Sam’s knees now, not seated but almost.

 

“Mm,” Sam concurs, “Probably do.” He puts one hand on Rafe’s thigh, splays his fingers and bunches as much fabric and muscle as he can between them.

 

“Then, if you know, how come you’re being difficult about it?”

 

Sam hums. He moves his hand to the back of Rafe’s thigh and pushes forward. He gives surprisingly easy, shuffling forward until he needs to lose a little posture to be seated on Sam’s lap. “’Cause you’re being incredibly, out of character-easy about it.”

 

Rafe, despite how his displeasure has slackened over his features, and his eyes have turned dark, raises an eyebrow. “Easy,” he repeats, “Really.”

 

Sam fits the cup of his palm over Rafe’s groin, the fabric starting to pull across his erection. “Take it for the compliment it is, darling,” he smirks, and abandons the shiver-slow knead he’d had going for himself for snagging Rafe by his shirt and tugging him downwards.

 

*

 


End file.
